


rare sun

by campholmes



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Smut, chain smoking, katya is a russian immigrant, they live on farms in wisconsin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campholmes/pseuds/campholmes
Summary: She can see Trixie walking to the barn from a crack in the wall, she’s layered her red shawl with another blue one, and she’s wearing a knitted wool hat. She looks warm and Katya wants to hold her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is an obscure reference but this au is based off of Patricia Polacco’s childrens books, which include: rechenka’s eggs, thunder cake, and the keeping quilt. please check them out, they are so sweet and had a massive influence on my childhood and current clothing style (i have been inspired by her babushkas all my life lol). i’m working on a couple of other fics but i remembered patricia’s books last night and i had to write something, so here it is! au, they live on farms! in 1920s wisconsin! katya is a russian immigrant. i simultaneously researched everything and nothing so not very historically accurate but the cows moo in russian, so. pretty mild internalized and outside homophobia warning. i listened to cocorosie while writing. russian definitions in the end notes! maybe a little (a lot) choppy & unedited! You read! You like! tumblr: fleursverts

Katya wakes in her scratchy sheets at around four a.m. as usual, her rooster (Anton, she named him when she was eighteen) makes sure of that. She loves him despite it all, he will listen to her broken English for hours if she needs someone to practice on and she appreciates that in a man. Well, anyways. She tries not to think about men. Katya can sleep for a while longer, at least until the sun comes up, then she has to go feed the goats and chickens.

Katya has decorated her attic room with quilts and random misplaced yards of floral-patterned fabrics that her Мама has no use for, she hangs them as curtains and sews them into pillowcases, or she makes them into little half-aprons that she can tie around her waist for another pop of color. She likes to layer her patterns and flowers, the chickens like it and Trixie, Katya’s best friend next door likes it too even if she never says so out loud, but they make her smile, and that’s enough to make sure that Katya keeps making them, keeps wearing them.

For the chickens. And to make Trixie happy.

Katya had washed her long, blonde hair yesterday and carefully plaited it tightly, and today she decides to unravel her long plaits and let her hair curl down her back. She pulls it out of her face with a blue kerchief with little red flowers sprinkling across it. 

Katya makes all of her own clothes, her Мама and Папа always say that she got it from her бабушка but Katya doesn’t remember her much, she had died when Katya was very small, in Russia. Katya loves to think of her though, if she was like Katya, hunched over, sitting and sewing, or exclaiming in delight when she found a new fabric at the store. 

Katya has to get up and look over the goats, her Мама will surely be in the barn milking the cows. Katya has never milked the cows in her life-- well she has tried, but they don’t like her much and won’t let her. So her Мама, though she is older, has to milk them and Katya is in charge of the goats and the chickens. She doesn’t mind, she’s named all of them and loves all of them equally.

Katya looks out of her tiny window, out onto the farm, into the hills surrounding. It’s a grey day, the sky is low and bulging with clouds, the grass is brown and green in places, but it’s only the end of March, summer is a far dream to her. The goats are in their pen from the night, she will have to go count them in a moment but for now she slips off her nightgown into the chilly air of her room and pulls on her undergarments, top and petticoat, pulls on her long black wool stockings that go past her knees, her heavy brown skirt and a flowered apron with blue trim. 

Katya digs around in her trunk for her thick white blouse, it’s somewhere amongst her books and knick-knacks, she pulls it on when she finds it and wraps her favorite red floral shawl over herself, the ragged ends of it tied around behind her waist, crossing over her breasts and draping like a cape down her back.

Katya has a tiny mirror in her stuffy room, she had bought it years ago with Trixie in town with money that she had saved from selling eggs, and she looks in it now, pinching her cheeks for a natural flush and pulling her fringe out from under her handkerchief, the curls framing her face and making her look breathless, pretty.

Katya wants to look nice, for the goats. Trixie usually walks over when she’s feeding them, and she wants to look nice for Trixie too.

Katya is confused about Trixie, but also she’s confused because she’s pretty sure that she knows what she wants. Katya likes Trixie. She likes her long blonde hair that she lets flow, she likes the slope of Trixie’s back and the curves of her breasts.

Katya knows it’s unnatural. She knows it because when she was seventeen there was a man in town that was shooed out, or shunned as Trixie would say, she’s good at English, because he lived alone for a long time except for when men would visit him. Katya knows what that meant, she knows what that means for her, and she wants-- needs to stay with her family. She can’t be driven away, her Мама wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Katya will live with her parents until she gets married. She’s twenty, and should be getting married “...anytime now,” according to her Мама, but she has no desire. Katya is happiest amongst her goats and chickens, feeding them and petting them with Trixie by her side and the wind blowing slowly, her hair whipping across her face and Trixie’s eyes on her. Men’s eyes make her skin crawl.

Katya climbs down the ladder onto the worn rug in the main floor of the house, laces up her leather boots and pushes the door forward to step onto the dry ground, her Папа, who is still asleep in bed, will worry on and on about how the conditions are perfect for a fire, but she prefers to not think about that. Her Мама must have heard her leave the house, Katya hears her calling from the barn.

“Екатерина! Feed the goats!” her Мама is yelling, and Katya rolls her eyes. She’s old enough to know, but Мама is old enough to forget, she supposes. 

“Да, Мама!” Katya yells across the grass. She stumbles over the same root that she trips on every single time, grabs the feed out of the shed and stalks over to her goats, they are scrambling over each other as she walks to them, but she lets them out of the pen to follow her, veers further away from the house, around to the back, so that she can see Trixie as she’s coming.

She feeds the goats distractedly, wandering back and forth, her boots crunching on the dry grass. One of her stockings has fallen down, her leg is getting cold, she’s squinting out into the horizon, waiting for Trixie to come up over the hill.

Today feels ominous, Katya has always felt connected to the weather and the seasons. She can tell that it’s not going to rain today but the chilly air still feels damp and heavy, her shawl and hair are floating gently in the wind and she shivers in the cold. She feels like she’s on the precipice of something. She hopes Trixie gets here soon, she always warms up the air around her, Katya’s hands get their feeling back around her.

Trixie is walking up over the hill now, her brown skirt and red shawl are flowing to one side from the wind over the top of the hill, she’s pushing her hair out of her face with one pale hand.

Katya waves to her, almost drops the bag of feed and giggles, Trixie is smiling at her and the sky doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. 

Trixie pets the goats that run to greet her, Kristina is her favorite and Katya swears that she misses and cries for Trixie when she’s gone. Trixie walks up to Katya, cheeks rosy, the little brown goat at her side. 

“Good morning,” Trixie is all flushed and sweet, her hair is free, curling around her soft cheeks and tucked behind red-tipped ears. She has some faded freckles, and in the summer they will darken like the rest of her skin. 

Tan skin is a symbol of work and poverty but Katya thinks that Trixie looks so warm tan, looks so sweet and smells like summer.

Trixie is Katya’s same age, they grew up together, next to each other, when Katya came from New York after coming from Russia when she was seven. Trixie has lived here all her life though, and she speaks English perfectly, with no accent. Katya is in awe of her and her sweetness, she’s kind but sometimes cutting, she has opinions on everything and can get angry. 

Katya supposes that it’s something to do with coming from Wisconsin, where the winters are heavy with snow and cold, Katya came from snow and cold but she has an appreciation for her privilege to be here, in America.

“Hello, Trixie. How is your morning?” Katya is grinning, she can’t help it. Trixie is a little angel, petting Kristina, she’s squatted down on her knees to be at the tiny goat’s level and she kisses the top of her head.

“Oh, the usual, you know. Woke to the dark but it wasn’t dark long! Spring is here! Summer is just around the corner,” Trixie speaks with rounded words and hard r’s, and Katya likes it, likes her long o’s and how she speaks slowly, when Katya first came to New York everyone spoke so quickly and she couldn’t learn, couldn’t keep up.

“Yes, spring is here!” Katya laughs, the wind making her giddy, her hands are warming up like she knew that they would. Trixie has straightened into standing and now she stands across from Katya, looking into her blue eyes, and Katya feels warm and loved, she can feel the green grass growing beneath her feet. 

Trixie gasps a little “oh!” and pulls a round ball of fabric out of her large skirt pocket. She unwraps it and holds out a slice of bread for Katya to take.

Trixie loves to make bread in the night, makes it for her many siblings and for Katya, she often makes Katya and her parents an entire loaf. Katya grabs the bread quickly from her, it’s so delicious and knowing that Trixie made it with her own two hands is magical. 

Trixie laughs as she hands it over, smiles shyly as Katya devours it and groans, she’s too humble for Katya to stand sometimes but she loves it, loves how Trixie’s eyes pull to the ground in embarrassment whenever Katya compliments her on her bread or her hair or her dress, Katya can see her blushing now, more than is natural from the cold, and she likes it so much. Trixie is soft and sweet.

Katya loves her. 

It can’t be wrong, Katya loves Trixie and it’s lovely and wonderful and fills her from the bottom of her feet to the tip of her head, she wants Trixie to be happy and safe, she wants to live in a little cabin with Trixie on their own land, she wants to get a sewing machine to sew Trixie’s dresses, she wants to hold her in her arms, she wants to bring Kristina just for Trixie and she wants to buy their very own chickens and grow vegetables in a small garden, huddle together in bed for warmth in the winter.

Katya feels whole, full when Trixie is with her. 

“Trixie, you are best friend I have ever had. You give me bread and like to pet goats, you are too sweet!” Katya over exaggerates her rolled r’s because she knows it will make Trixie giggle, pinches Trixie’s cheek jokingly. Trixie leans into her, smiling, and lets her wrap her skinny arm around her waist, Katya slides her hand into Trixie’s wide pocket and guides her around in a circle, kicking her legs up in a mock-dance, Trixie is about to collapse from laughter and Katya’s heart is bursting.

Eventually Katya lets go and she can feel the loss against her right side as Trixie stumbles off. Trixie is still gasping with laughter and Katya is grinning, Trixie is happy and so Katya is too. 

Katya leads Trixie over to the shed where she lifts up the heavy sack of chicken feed and carries it over to the chicken coop, Trixie on her heels exclaiming over a section of green grass (“Spring is coming!”). Katya is smiling and Trixie is pulling out handfuls of feed to sprinkle on the ground along with Katya, Trixie has many siblings and only cows to milk, so she was done with her chores long ago.

Katya likes to sing off-tune to the chickens in Russian, she knows that they are listening and that they like it, and so does Trixie. Trixie knows some of the songs too, Katya taught them to her when they were on break in the warm months at school. When they could leave the stuffy room and run around the yard, Katya and Trixie would sit under the old oak tree there and Katya would teach her Russian phrases and songs in exchange for Trixie teaching her more English.

Now, Trixie speaks a good amount of Russian and sometimes she can hold almost an entire conversation with Katya, she’s learned how to roll her r’s and articulate her y’s. Trixie is an eager learner, she looks up at Katya with her wide blue eyes and listens so closely, Katya can’t get enough of her little accent she has while speaking it, loves how her nose scrunches up when she can’t pronounce a word.

Trixie is whispering “preev-yet,” to each chicken as it passes by her to eat, and Katya’s heart is wide and expanding through her chest. Katya is smiling, Trixie probably thinks that she’s smiling at the chickens but then she looks up at Katya and smiles softly, her face so gentle, her eyes...knowing?

Katya’s heart drops-- does she know? Is Katya too obvious? Is their friendship based entirely off of Trixie’s pity? Katya sometimes lets her mind run like this, when she’s kneeling on her straw mattress at night, looking out her window at the stars, hoping that Trixie can see them too.

Katya shakes it off, but she knows that Trixie saw her face fall and she looks quizzical, confused at Katya’s dramatic shift in mood. Katya smiles at her quickly, a little insincerely, and begins to sing again, Trixie looks at her in trepidation before joining her, it’s a simple children’s play song that Trixie knows just as well as Katya. 

Katya’s heart is pounding-- what if Trixie knows? What will she do if Trixie confronts her? Katya doesn’t want to lose her as a friend. She knows that she will never be able to hold Trixie’s body in her arms, but she is perfectly happy with being able to know Trixie, being able to touch her quickly every once in a while, brush her hair for her, and hug her hello.

Trixie is leaning against the wall of the coop, part of her red shawl is stuck on an exposed nail on the doorframe behind her and she doesn’t notice, she’s singing with a broken accent and her cheeks are still pink, she’s watching the chickens peck up the seeds with a little smile.

Katya feels lost, like her whole world has come crashing down in a matter of seconds. Trixie could leave her, could never speak to her again and it could be completely justified if she knew. Katya feels like crying, wants to climb up the ladder, lie on her bed and weep, but she knows she has to act normally if she ever wants Trixie to not worry.

~ ~ ~

It’s almost noon somehow, Trixie and Katya have been sitting on the brown grass outside of the chicken coop, talking about anything and everything. Trixie thinks that it’s going to rain, but Katya knows that it isn’t.

“Katya, have you ever thought that maybe you’re a witch?” Trixie giggles, pulling up dead strands of grass and folding them so that they snap between her fingers.

“Yes! In fact, I’m almost sure that I am. I have to be, I know when the storm comes, you know?” Katya is happy again, Trixie is acting normally and smiling like she usually does at Katya.

“Да, I know,” Trixie is still laughing, and Katya’s heart skips a beat at the Russian like it always does. 

Trixie has to go, she usually makes lunch for her parents and all of her younger siblings, and she gets up, holds out her hand for Katya to take. Katya clasps it with her sweaty, shaky one (she hopes that Trixie doesn’t notice) so that Trixie can pull her up from the ground. 

Trixie says goodbye, and Katya turns to go into the house and make the stew for dinner later, but Trixie calls for her and Katya whips back around.

“Can I see you tonight?” Trixie questions, her youngest siblings go to bed so early and sometimes she likes to come and see Katya, they will sit in the barn loft and chat, listen to the cows below them.

“Да,” Katya grins at her, turns back around and walks into the house without looking back.

Her Мама and Папа are sitting at the table playing cards. Katya sits on the patterned rug near the door, unlaces her boots and pulls them off.

She says hello to her parents, who are drinking coffee and eating bread, and goes to light the stove to start making the stew for dinner. Katya likes to cook, her Тетя first taught her how to back in Russia when she was very young, and continued to teach her more complex dishes when they all lived together in New York for a year. She still lives there and Katya will likely never see her again, but since her Мама can’t really cook she is glad that she knows how.

Trixie will laugh at her for it, since Katya is usually very clumsy and silly, it seems that the last thing she would be able to do would be keeping house. And it’s true, Katya isn’t so good at cleaning, but she can cook, and she can sew.

She wants to cook and sew for Trixie, wants to do all the work for her and let her lie in bed in a white nightgown, hair cascading over her breasts and skin soft, hands smooth from not working.

As Katya is cooking the meal, she lets her mind wander across Trixie’s skin. Trixie has soft skin but for her hands and the soles of her feet, from walking and working. Trixie likes to be barefoot in the summer, feel the grass between her toes. Trixie will wade in the river and pull Katya in with her, pointing to the fish so that Katya can see them because she knows Katya likes them even though Trixie is afraid of them.

Trixie’s hair is soft and clean always, sometimes she lets Katya brush through it gently with a comb, untangle it slowly with her fingers.

Katya has made Trixie dresses before, once a red dress with blue flowers on it that was light for summer, and once a grey wool dress for winter. Trixie has long since grown out of them, but she still has them folded neatly in a trunk in her house.

Katya has loved Trixie probably since the first day that Katya was staying on her family’s new land in the makeshift shack before her Папа built their cabin. Their neighbors had come over to say hello and all of the adults had exclaimed how Trixie was her same age, how they would have to play together. And there was Trixie, long white blonde hair and freckles, smiling at Katya and holding out her hand to lead her onto the hill.

They spent the whole day rolling down the hill and running back up it, and Katya had never had fun like that in her life before. She couldn’t speak much English but Trixie spoke slower than the kids in New York, she spoke loudly and with confidence, and when Katya didn’t know a word she taught her patiently.

Katya is entranced by Trixie, by her soft movements and gentle voice, but then by her loud laugh, her silliness and her fear of bees. Katya likes creepy-crawlies, she likes animals and she likes new things. Sometimes Katya thinks that the only new thing that Trixie has ever liked in her entire life was Katya.

Katya knows that Trixie loves her, but what if she finds out that Katya really does _love_ her? 

Katya wonders if if would be different if they lived in the city. If they lived in New York. Probably not, but maybe then they could live together. 

They would have a little apartment that they could decorate however they wanted, maybe they would have lots of friends that would have over to visit and drink alcohol. Katya has never been drunk but she would like to try it sometime. Maybe Trixie would get drunk with her.

Katya halts her train of thought quickly, she doesn’t want to get caught up in it, she has to be realistic and understand that Trixie will never love her how she does. She needs to accept that and she needs to be happy with having Trixie by her side as a friend.

Katya can’t believe she ever let herself even think about it.

But she thinks about it. Every night she lies in bed and all she _does_ is think about it, think about Trixie. Some nights she thinks about how wonderful Trixie is and how she would like to hold her gently and kiss ker cheeks, hold her hand. 

And some nights she thinks about Trixie’s breasts, her stomach and her fingers, and sometimes Katya can’t help but let her own hand wander down her stomach and she touches herself, brings herself to release imagining Trixie touching her like that, imagining Trixie kissing her mouth hot and desperate.

Katya feels insane, and maybe she is. But she loves Trixie, and there’s nothing that she can do about that.

She’s tried to stop it.

~ ~ ~

Once the stew is done, Katya leaves the stove on low so that it stays warm for dinner and climbs up the ladder to the loft, sits on her bed peering out the window.

In Russia, she lived on a farm in Берёзовский with her parents and her бабушка, and her entire extended family lived there too. The farms were closer together, the land was not perfect, and everyone was so poor. Katya did not really understand what it meant when her parents told her that they were leaving for America, all she understood was that they would be going to Moscow first.

She had never been to Moscow and she was excited to go, but when she got there and saw the big buildings, all the people, she finally realized that she would not be going home.

She had cried and cried, her Мама had held her in her lap on the crowded train and shushed her, but she could not stop.

It was all that she had known, and now sometimes she struggles to remember it.

She had felt lost all the way through Russia, through Europe, in New York and through America. When she got to Wisconsin all of the hilly open space upset her, it was so lonely here and there was so much space between farms, so little people, she would never see her cousins again.

But then she had met Trixie. Trixie fills her days with laughter and joy, and Trixie is everything to her. Katya cannot let her find out about how she feels. She cannot let it happen, will not let it happen.

She has been staring out across the horizon for hours, watching the cows graze and the goats roam around, the clouds are still hanging heavy and everything is brown, branches of trees stuck out like witches fingers and bones, she likes this weather because it reminds her of home, when her бабушка would make the stew like she did today and all of her family would come to eat dinner together. 

She doesn’t remember their faces, but she remembers Trixie’s face perfectly. She has it memorized.

~ ~ ~

After dinner, Katya waits in the barn loft for Trixie. She should be coming before dark sometime, and she will likely sleep there with Katya if it gets too dark for her to return home.

Katya has brought up heavy wool blankets and pillows from her bed so that they are warm when the night gets chilly. She can see Trixie walking to the barn from a crack in the wall, she’s layered her red shawl with another blue one, and she’s wearing a knitted wool hat. She looks warm and Katya wants to hold her. 

Trixie comes into the barn through the little side door and closes it behind her, climbs up the ladder to join Katya. She immediately grins at her and gives a breathless _hello_ , settling down next to her on the blanket Katya has spread out in the last grey light of day.

Trixie crosses her legs beneath her skirt and immediately starts chatting, apparently her brothers are having some kind of fight and Katya shrieks with laughter as Trixie describes them throwing bread at each other across the table and her mother crying.

“How was your dinner?” Trixie asks, she always wants to know about Katya’s day and how it has been, what she has done and what she plans to do. 

“Good, I made stew and Мама is still jealous of my cooking skills, I really am best in house, best in state, best in America and that is fact,” Katya rambles on, and Trixie is watching her so kindly, nodding along and giggling. “I just wish I could find better food, food is not best here-- I do like milk and cheese, you know, but if I could go back to New York or to Paris, can you imagine, Trix? Come to Paris with me!”

Trixie smiles so big and responds so genuinely, “Okay!” that Katya bursts into laughter.

“But why not?” Trixie is giggling a little at Katya, who is slapping her palm against the wood floor of the loft, wheezing and coughing.

“Trixie...Paris is too expensive. You would not like, I have been there on my way to America. The people are too rude, they are all too elite and fancy for us there,” Katya explains, and Trixie gives her a mock-pout.

“Okay, well let’s go to New York then!” Trixie is excited again and Katya can tell that she’s being for real, she isn’t joking. And Katya can’t let herself get carried away.

“You know what, Trix? Well...I have been thinking to move there again. Get an apartment of my own, meet new people, have fun. See new things. Maybe you could come visit me if I leave,” Katya is being cautious, she doesn’t want Trixie to think that she wants her to come with her. “But, moving there would be so hard. I have barely any money saved up and I am scared about getting job...I have not been to very much school, I still have such an accent...who knows,” Trixie is smiling at her gently but Katya doesn’t see this, she’s looking at the ground, like she’s ashamed.

“Katya. I know that you would be able to do it. You could! It’s the twenty-first century now, women can do almost anything that they want, even Russian ones. You are the smartest person I know, I know you could get a job. And who knows, maybe I could come to live with you.”

Katya is still looking at the floor but now it’s because Trixie is talking too fast ahead, into a future that Katya doesn’t dare imagine. Trixie is suggesting her wildest dreams and Katya can’t bear to hear them and then let them go.  
But then Trixie takes her chin in hand carefully with shaking, warm fingers, propping her head up so that she’s looking in Trixie’s eyes. A cow moo-moos loudly below them, making Katya huff out a little laugh and Trixie smirk. 

Trixie doesn’t move her hand from her chin, but she does shift it over so that she’s cupping Katya’s cheek. 

Katya is frozen, she can see Trixie’s eyes darting around her face and stopping at her lips, and Katya can’t breathe.

Trixie’s calluses rub across Katya’s cheekbone, a light pattering of fingertips, and Katya sucks in a quick breath when her lungs start aching, almost choking on the air.

Trixie is so close now, maybe an inch away. And Katya is staring into her eyes, somehow Katya has Trixie’s upper arm clasped in her hand. 

Katya won’t do it, she can’t lean in any further. But her face is open, her eyes open, her barriers are gone. Nothing is closed off to Trixie, she can take what she wants.

And Trixie leans in and touches their lips gingerly against each other.

~ ~ ~

One day when Katya was maybe six years old, she went with her cousin Yelena to play in the woods near the town center.

They had climbed over some big rocks and past a wide clearing into more trees, and it was summer so the sun was out, and they eventually turned back around and sat in the clearing for a little before going home.

Katya remembers the rare sun kissing her cheeks and the tip of her nose, burning her a little. After that day her hair was streaked with a little more light blonde, and her skin was browner, and she had another permanent freckle right under her cheekbone.

~ ~ ~

Now, Trixie’s lips against hers are just like that sun, that rare Russian sun that was sure to make crops grow and the sheep happy, warm and soft, but also burning and unexpected.

They are both frozen there, and then the ice begins to melt and Katya dares to move her lips against Trixie’s, and soon Trixie’s lips are moving too, and slowly but surely they are kissing softly, Trixie opens her mouth a little and Katya can’t help but slide her tongue between her lips, touch it gently to her teeth.

Trixie grunts a little and scooches closer to Katya on the blanket, impossibly slowly.

Once, Katya bought a jar of honey from the store in town and spooned it onto a slice of Trixie’s bread for breakfast. The honey had dripped slowly, slowly onto the soft surface, and Trixie is kneeling up and hovering over Katya a little bit, still connected to her at the lips.

Trixie’s hand flows like that honey, traces her fingertips down Katya’s arm from her shoulder, slots her fingers between Katya’s. Her other hand is still cupping Katya’s cheek and her thumb is resting right under Katya’s eye.

Something snaps in the air, a cow shifts below or there’s a crack of lightning, and Katya is surging up against Trixie, Trixie surging back, they’re lying on the blanket, Katya on top of Trixie, their breasts are touching each other through the many layers of shawls and blouses.

Their teeth are clacking against each other’s and Katya clasps both hands strong around Trixie’s waist, bracing her as she kisses her hot and fast. Trixie moans a little and Katya can feel it in her core, and she stops.

Katya lifts her head to look into Trixie’s eyes, they’re both panting heavily into each other’s faces.

Trixie nods and lifts herself and Katya up by bracing her elbows on the ground. Katya sits up, places both knees on either side of Trixie’s thighs and unties her shawl from around her waist, pulls it off, starts to unlace her blouse.

Trixie sits up and does the same, but she pulls her blouse off quickly so just her white undershirt is separating Katya from her breasts, Katya fumbles her fingers quickly to free her blouse from the waist of her skirt, pulls it up and grabs Trixie by the arms again, pushes their lips together. 

Katya feels so hot, she rolls to Trixie’s side and disconnects their lips regretfully, stands to untie the belt of her skirt and let it drop down, tossing it aside to the pile of blankets in the corner. Trixie holds her hand up to Katya and Katya pulls her up, turns her around gently and presses her lips to her cool shoulder, unties the bow in the back of her skirt and allows it to fall off of her.

Katya bends down to pick up the skirt, tosses it over with her own. Trixie wraps her arms around her and pulls her slowly to sit down on the blanket and they’re both in just their undergarments, Trixie’s nipples are hard through the thin fabric. Trixie traces along the bottom of Katya’s undershirt, crumples it between her fingers, almost lifts it but stops herself.

“Да?” Trixie whispers, almost too quiet for Katya to hear.

“Да,” Katya breathes, and Trixie pulls her shirt up, hands brushing up against her hard nipples, making Katya shiver. She pulls the shirt over Katya’s head, throws it to the side, then takes hers off. Katya is in awe of her, her perfect breasts and how they’re touching hers now as Trixie kisses her again.

Katya lifts a shaking hand to grasp Trixie’s breast in it, strokes it with her thumb and squeezes her nipple between two fingers, making Trixie sigh into her mouth.

Trixie kisses the edge of her mouth quick and hard, moves to press hot kisses all down Katya’s chest before taking her right nipple into her warm mouth, tracing it with her tongue.

“Trix….Trixie,” Katya is heaving massive breaths and moans, She reaches down to Trixie’s waist and pushes at her underskirt and underwear, trying to pull them down despite Trixie being cross-legged on the floor in front of her.

Trixie giggles between Katya’s breasts, pulls back from her and pulls them off quickly, Katya does the same while they are separated. 

And Katya is looking at Trixie nude, her body is curved and pale and soft, her skin is even and her breasts are full. Her nipples are a soft brown, her chest is heaving. Katya pushes her shoulders gently, smiling, looking right into her eyes as she places Trixie’s back on the blanket. 

Katya lies down beside her, rests her hand on Trixie’s stomach and inches it down to touch her, slides two fingers over her, she’s soaking wet and Katya is panting even though she is not touching herself.

“This is okay?” Katya breathes, and Trixie moans a _yes_ , her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure.

Trixie is pushing her hips up into Katya’s hand, rubbing herself against Katya’s fingers, whining softly.

Katya’s forehead is scrunched up in concentration, trying to make it good for her and Trixie leans over and kisses her on those wrinkles, moans again as Katya pushes a couple of fingers up inside of her.

Katya pushes her fingers in-and-out, just does what feels good to her in her bed at night in the attic, feels around inside of her, rubbing and caressing until Trixie tenses up and groans loudly, Katya smirks, knowing she has found Trixie’s pleasure spot.

Katya keeps rubbing, keeps circling her thumb over Trixie’s outside, until Trixie is whining a prolonged note and twitching against Katya.

“I love you,” Trixie whimpers into Katya’s shoulder as her hips twitch on the blanket. Katya is bringing herself off with her other hand, and as Trixie whispers to her she releases, cries _I love you too_ , her voice cracking and sobbing.

They lay there for a few moments just panting against each others skin. Trixie is warm and Katya is a little sweaty, and the cows below are moo-mooing again.

Katya eventually gets up and grabs her and Trixie’s undergarments and a couple heavy blankets, then she gently helps dress Trixie, who is half asleep already, wipes Trixie and then herself down with a corner of Katya’s underskirt. 

Katya pulls the warm blanket over the two of them and lifts Trixie’s head to place the pillow beneath it, then wraps herself around Trixie, her leg across her hips and her arm under her breasts.

“Let’s go to New York,” Trixie whispers, words slurring slightly, eyelids drooping as she looks over at Katya.

“Okay. Yes, let’s go,” Katya kisses her shoulder quickly and then rests her head on Trixie’s breast.

“Katya. Я люблю тебя.” Katya had taught Trixie how to say “I love you” first, because it was the first thing that Trixie had asked her to learn, and Katya had spent weeks helping her with the pronunciation.

It’s not like Trixie had a lot of reasons to say it, to practice it through all those years since she learned it. She had never said it to Katya, so her near-perfect pronunciation surprises her, makes Katya jerk up to look at her. Trixie’s eyes are closed, her cheeks pink. She is almost asleep. She smiles at Trixie softly, kisses her lightly on the lips. Trixie smiles back sleepily.

“Я люблю тебя,” Katya whispers, drifts off to sleep, so warm. Maybe they will move to New York, get an apartment together.

Katya dreams of all of the patterned dresses she could make herself and Trixie with the unlimited number of fabric shops in the big city, how she could come home from work and make dinner for the two of them, hold Trixie’s hand across the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When her and Trixie took the train to New York they passed so much empty space, Katya could feel the strings connecting her upper arms to Wisconsin pulling tight and thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back again! same au, grown up ladies! trixie & katya have grown a lot in the past couple years but you should still read ch 1 to understand why the characters are the way they are. feat: the endless period nicknames katya uses for trixie, cigarettes (lots of them), messy apartments, and poor period/language research. definitions @ end notes. shout out to lale & matilda for being the best cheerleaders anyone could ask for and listening to all of my insecurities and Nerves about this. this fic is my favorite, my baby, so...you like! You comment! tumblr: fleursverts

The heat is heavy.

Katya has been laying on the green velvet couch for what feels like molasses-run hours, limbs and torso completely still but with sweat still dripping steadily from her forehead and from everywhere else. Her arms are heavy and her legs are buzzing. Her bangs are sticking straight up, she’s sure, stuck from her sweat and flung off of her forehead in desperation.

She’s just in a cream, knee-length dress with tiny cropped sleeves, the fabric is light and airy but it’s not light enough, not airy enough. The heat is choking her, and her cigarette is not helping but she needs to smoke, needs to do _something_ with her hands. The little beads and embroidered flowers on the dress are sticking, pushing into her skin, making patterns on it, and her sticky plum lipstick is stained wax on the end of the cigarette and on the tips of her bare fingernails.

The smoke seems to hang around her head, making the yellow air a few degrees warmer, and the open window seems to feel the need to slam against the wall with no discernable rhythm along each gust of hot wind that blows through. The curtains aren’t tied back because when Katya finally ascended the steep stairs to the apartment from the store, she was overheated, heaving breaths, and had grabbed a glass of water, throwing all of the windows in the main floor open as quickly as possible and lying down, so the curtains are flapping around, too, and sometimes choose to shade Katya a little. When they do shade her, it doesn’t help. The shade is just as stifling and pressing as the violent sun. Her hair is sticking on the sides of her face and the lobes of her ears. 

Katya had chopped all of her hair off the moment that she had seen it was a popular style here, she loves it short and she loves how masculine she feels, how powerful it is. She loves that she doesn’t have to wear sleeves in the summer and she loves wearing lipstick, drawing on her eyebrows.

But right now, she wishes that she was naked.

Somehow she musters up the strength to stand, grunting and hyperaware of how her joints twist and pull, her bones creaking with the rubber. She unzips her dress from the back and lets it drop down in a light crumpled thud, flinging her delicate lace bra and underskirt off onto the end of the couch. Finally, no more hot fabric sticking to her heavy skin, and maybe once Trixie comes home she can convince her to put her mouth on her.

Katya runs her bare feet against the green of the couch, pulls her leg up, the damp skin of her thigh sticking to the soft skin of her right breast, she can hear her limbs squeaking against each other over the slamming of the window. It’s so hot, and she lets her foot rest gingerly against the cooler wood floor instead. When Trixie comes home, she will probably screech about how everyone in the building across the street can see her naked sprawled across the couch, but that’s just New York. Katya got used to it when she came here at seven, and now she’s twenty-two and has even less shame.

Last night, Katya and Trixie had invited Katya’s Тетя over for dinner, and the remnants of the little party are still half-strewn across the table. Under any other circumstance, Katya would have cleaned it up by now, but it’s hot and she’s still hung over from last night, her Тетя had brought over bottles and bottles of liquor and they had finished them all in the red lamplight, she was so excited to see Katya, chatting in rapid Russian the moment Katya opened the door and then switching between it and English throughout the night and depending on how drunk she was.

Katya had had a wonderful time, she had always loved her Тетя more than anyone on earth in her childhood, she had no children or husband of her own and she had rather obviously picked Katya as her favorite, teaching her how to cook and dance, how to have fun.

In a crystal glass on the green tablecloth sits Katya’s delicate gold necklace, she can see it from the couch and she remembers the fuzzy feeling of drunkenness, her arm around Trixie’s forearm and Trixie untangling herself, reaching behind Katya’s neck to touch below her ear, unclasp the thin gold chain that rested there, barely touching her skin or soft hair. Trixie had stumbled her fingers over the clasp and Katya had giggled through her nose, letting out a held breath. When Trixie had finally won her struggle with the tiny hoop she had unwrapped herself from Katya’s sharp shoulders, her arms still in an almost-circle, her eyelids heavy with concentration, and had swung to the side to set it down. 

Katya had giggled again as Trixie plopped it in the unused glass, her arms moving slower than her head, her eyelids still drooping softly, her eyelashes stark against her cheek.

Her Тетя had loved Trixie, and Katya was a little off-put by how excited she was to meet her, how she had flickered her eyes between them knowingly and smugly, how she had turned on the lamp next to the couch cheekily when Trixie sat across from Katya in the armchair, how she had laughed brightly when Trixie made a joke about Katya in broken Russian to her.

Katya, after she had left, had undressed Trixie in the white-tiled bathroom and giggled into the skin of her back about how Trixie certainly didn’t have to try to impress her, she loved her already, it seemed.

Now one of the ends of the necklace is clinking against the glass repetitively as the wind gusts, the smell of gasoline floating up from the busy street below, people yelling and cars honking and kids screeching. Katya had forgotten how wonderful the city was after years on the farm, and she loves to lie on the couch in the evenings after closing the fabric store, reading a book and then climbing out onto the fire escape to smoke a few cigarettes into the black night, music floating up from the room below, cars honking loudly and men yelling below, the night a stark mixture of yellow and navy. The smoke from her cigarettes will float above her in the light from their window and then disappear before it evaporates in the blackness of the night right above her head.

The sun is blasting through the window onto the couch and Katya’s naked body, she will probably get burnt but she can’t bother moving. The buzz has moved up from her legs to her thighs and stomach and her mind is moving slow like it almost never does, it’s yellow on the ceiling and she can make shapes in the white paint up there with her eyes tracing slow circles.

Katya finishes her cigarette and stuffs it in the over-full ashtray on the tiny wood table at the end of the couch, reaches her arm out blindly to the coffee table, rummaging for her pack and a matchbook. When her clumsy fingers find them she pulls out another, sticks it in her mouth and lights it, puts the match onto a white saucer that’s been sitting there for weeks amongst the books and magazines.

There’s a tall vase with dead daisies in it that Katya had bought Trixie a few weeks ago, she had come home loud on the steps after a long dinner with Ginger, half-drunk and smoking through the front door with the flowers in hand, exclaiming over how Ginger had told her that _they mean purity, isn’t that good Trixie doodle, it’s too funny!_ Trixie had laughed as she stumbled but had pulled the dangling cigarette from her mouth and put it out, taking the flowers in hand to the sink where she conjured the vase out of nowhere to settle them in. Trixie had looked angelic, her hair golden and puffed around her head just like a halo. Trixie is a babe, and Katya had wanted to hold her breasts in both hands so she took the vase from Trixie and slammed it down on the coffee table, pulled Trixie’s arm to lead her to the bedroom to do just that.

Katya takes a long, deep drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs, giving her time to forget the pressing heat. It feels like there are flat palms of hands all covering her body, pushing on her and pulling on her, keeping her sticky and hot.

Trixie, well, Trixie is the bee’s knees, an extraordinary little angel. Trixie cut her hair too but her hair is so blonde, she doesn’t have bangs, and it’s curlier in the summer, poofy and sweet, when she tucks it behind her ears or tries to slick it down in two curls, one on each cheek for parties, and her little freckles are darker because of the sun. Katya likes to put a record on the secondhand gramophone and take Trixie’s fingers in hers, twirl her around the living room in the orange light of the lamps, watch her hair bounce around her head like she’s floating in a pond of gold.

Trixie will sometimes take Katya’s wire reading glasses off for her at night and kiss both of her tired eyelids as they close.

Katya wants her to get home so that she can do unspeakable things to her.

It’s so hot.

~ ~ ~

“Привет!” Trixie calls as she unlocks the door to the apartment, Katya grunting in acknowledgement from the couch where she’s sprawled out naked, her legs dangling off the side and a cigarette between the first two fingers of her right hand.

She seems half-asleep, and Trixie smirks. Trixie feels like her face is melting off, but she sets her bags quietly next to the front door and stalks over to the couch, straddles Katya’s waist. Her hair is on the next level, she knows, frizzed out more due to the wind and the heat. Katya likes that, says she looks like an angel, calls her a “baby chick,” and Trixie blushes and takes her hand.

She takes Katya’s wrists in her left hand and takes her half-smoked cigarette, gently settles it back between her lips. Trixie’s rosy pink dress is fanning out across Katya’s thighs and knees, her sweat-damp ass heavy on Katya’s hipbones, in her silk panties.

Katya’s pupils are wide and she’s squirming underneath Trixie, there’s a bead of sweat dripping down along her more sharpened cheekbone from sucking in the smoke that Trixie leans down to lick up, still holding Katya’s wrists above her head.

“Hey, baby,” Katya whispers breathlessly out of the side of her mouth, she winks and smirks around the cigarette as Trixie places her thumb on Katya’s chin. Trixie smirks right back and leans down to kiss the unoccupied side of Katya’s mouth. Katya’s gotten dirty, crass and horny, especially in the summer, in New York. Her voice has lowered from her constant smoking, and she smokes like a man, no cigarette-holder like Trixie will sometimes use, just her fingers on the white paper.

Katya is so hot, her accent still rolls and her hair is cropped shorter than Trixie’s, just above the ends of her earlobes, and on the back of her neck it’s bristly like a man’s. Her bangs are heavy and today they’re sticking straight up almost comically, and her hair is streaked with white blonde from the sun. Trixie likes to run her fingers against the back of her neck, feel her hair buzz against them. Trixie is still holding Katya’s wrists loosely, Katya could pull a hand out of her grasp but she doesn’t, she won’t. 

Trixie reaches her free hand to unzip her dress on her side, pulls it up and off, expertly switching hands so Katya doesn’t have to pull free. She unclasps her flimsy bra, tossing it aside and Katya’s eyes dart to watch it get caught, swing around the candle-holder on the coffee table. The ashes from Katya’s still-burning cigarette are falling off the side of the couch precariously, somehow onto a plate on the floor and Trixie makes sure to pinpoint the location of the pack and box of matches so that when this one is done she can stuff Katya’s mouth with another.

Trixie leans down and licks across Katya’s left nipple, flicking her tongue across it repeatedly, Katya sighing out smoke above her head, whimpering a little bit, her hips wiggling under Trixie’s ass. Trixie’s eyes are sparkling mischievously when she looks up from Katya’s breast, and Katya huffs out smoke, eyes rolling back in her head head involuntarily as Trixie lets go of Katya’s joined hands, glides her hand along Katya’s squeaky, sweaty stomach, prolongedly tugging on the coarse hairs below her bellybutton. Katya grabs hold of the armrest of the couch, her nails digging into the velvet.

Katya groans around the cigarette as Trixie pulls her fingers still lower, scratching her nails through her blonde pubic hair, pulling quick and hard. Trixie’s fingers are _almost, almost_ right where Katya wants them, but Trixie pauses and looks up at her from where she was kissing below her breasts, dragging her tongue along the damp skin.

“Let me get you another,” she whispers, half-laughing as Katya squints at her in mock frustration (Katya loves to be teased and they both know it). Trixie takes the bud from Katya’s purple, sticky lips, shifts to sit on the edge of the couch, scoops up the pack and stuffs another between Katya’s waiting teeth, lights it and puts a finger to her lips, to shush her. Katya’s head is almost hanging off the edge of the couch.

Trixie re-adjusts to Katya’s body, smoke around her white-blonde halo like she’s sparked, yellow sun across half of her face and her right arm, she’s floating above Katya like an angel. Or a devil.

“You’re a dream,” Katya mumbles, she can feel the smoke spilling from her lips and she’s choking on Trixie, her soft breasts now pressed up against her thighs as she moves down Katya’s body like it’s water. As Trixie finally licks up over her, she lets herself float in the stream, in the ocean that’s somewhere beyond the view from their open window, her ears dunking under methodically and making her head vibrate.

At Katya’s release she’s seeing yellow, her eyelids are squeezed tight with tears dripping, she’s twirling in Trixie’s tongue, on her and in her and outside her. Katya is still puffing smoke and her shaking hand swings up to grab her cigarette from her numb lips, she can’t trust herself to not drop it burning to the floor.

Katya moans halting, Trixie humming into her contentedly and Katya feels like she’s floating in the stars, fingers closing and opening one by one, over and over. Trixie is there, in a pink dress and her big hair is swirling around her temple. 

When Katya comes back, floating slowly down to earth, Trixie is kissing her cheek over and over, soft lips on skin, Katya’s neck is tingling because of it. Katya’s dropped the cigarette onto the plate.

“C’mon,” Katya grumbles out of the side of her jaw, between her teeth. Trixie won’t kiss her after she’s been chain smoking but Katya lifts Trixie’s hip to twist her onto her back, Katya crawling over on top of her, breasts squished together and noses almost touching.

Katya lets herself roll to the other side of Trixie so that she’s hot between the back of the couch and Trixie’s naked body, and she reaches down to run her fingers up from Trixie’s knee to press two fingers inside her. Trixie is so wet, Katya groans at the feeling and the sound of Trixie’s satisfied gasp.

Trixie’s big eyes are closed and Katya can see her eyeballs moving around behind the thin lids, beneath the blue veins. Trixie’s nose is scrunched up as Katya runs her fingers along her, circling and tracing. She gasps and breathes and Katya can feel her breath as she’s pushed off the edge, as she squeezes her eyelids tighter and grabs onto her own breast.

~ ~ ~

Now Trixie lies half on top of Katya, half seated on the couch, soft breaths caressing Katya’s breasts and body buzzing.

“Let’s both stay in today, or go to the park,” Katya says into Trixie’s hair, which is rapidly becoming wet from the sweat of Katya’s forehead. Trixie breathes in deep. Her hand is hot on Katya’s bellybutton.

“Yes, let’s go out,” Trixie is always wanting to go out and see, she still feels like everything is new and she wants Katya there with her to show her all of it. 

They get up slowly, limb by limb, pull on their underclothes and Katya fills two glasses with water for them to drink, grabs some bread out of the cupboard for a snack. Katya takes Trixie’s hand and twirls her once on the hardwood floor, watches her spin, Katya likes her barefoot and with her feet and toes under Katya’s.

They pull their dresses back on, the sun has risen higher in the sky, Katya locks the door behind them. 

Trixie is bounding down the staircase and Katya follows, bread, blanket, and books in her carpet bag. Trixie sneaks a glance at Katya’s straining arm carrying it, and Katya grins at her, bats her lashes quickly and sticks out her tongue. Trixie squeals and runs down the remainder of the stairs, hair bouncing behind her and hands sliding along the railing.

They walk side-by-side on the concrete to Central Park, the sun is peeking through from between and above the buildings and streaking across Katya’s face, blinding her periodically. Trixie always gasps and points out anything and everything as they walk along, she loves people and to judge them and watch them and show them to Katya.

“We’re going this way,” Trixie gently cups Katya’s elbow to lead her around the corner, to watch for when to cross the street. Katya has often accidentally been watching something else and walked out in front of a car, too used to living with cows to see cars as dangerous. Trixie’s fingers are still around Katya’s elbow and she only slowly lets go as they walk across the street behind a man in a suit. Katya can feel her fingers still there. Katya can’t stop leering at Trixie’s breasts under the pink silk, at her ass when Katya falls behind.

When they reach the park and stop to put down the blanket in the shade, Trixie pulls open the bag to grab her book and a slice of her bread, sprawls out on the blanket and lets Katya pass her a cigarette. Trixie’s lips encircle it as Katya sets it in her mouth, she watches Katya’s fingers light it and lets Katya come in close to light her own against it. 

Katya had called Ginger up before they had left, told her to come and meet them at their spot. It’s still hot, and all around them in the wide green there are children playing in the grass, there’s a party nearby and Katya can smell the liquor from where she’s seated, legs crossed, improper. Trixie isn’t watching her but if she was she’d cast her a disapproving look.

Trixie smokes gently and feminine, her fingers barely holding onto her cigarette and taking tiny drags, letting the smoke fall from her lips onto the pages she’s scanning. Katya is the opposite, and she feels a little hazy from smoking all day and the humidity. She can see Ginger all the way over at the street, it seems like miles across the green grass.

Katya likes the constant noise, cars are honking right now and people are yelling, dogs barking, it’s busy and there are so many people around. Katya likes that she can touch Trixie’s shoulder with her pointer finger, press it into a freckle, and nobody will see. She’s horny and somehow everything Trixie is doing is making her wet.

Ginger finally makes it over and sits with a grunt next to Katya, stretching her short legs and exclaiming over the heat.

“I do not know why I would come out today, I can hardly believe that you convinced me,” Ginger lets Katya blow a lungful of smoke into her face.

“You make your own decisions, I’m hardly your moral center,” Katya laughs, Trixie hasn’t stopped reading since she picked up her book but to say a quiet _hello_ to Ginger. Her hair is fanned out on the blanket below her.

Ginger pulls out a flask from seemingly nowhere and offers it to Katya, who groans in pleasure and kicks back the warm whiskey, Trixie eyeing her from next to her thigh. Katya passes it to her as well, and she drinks. It’s about noon, the day is _still_ getting hotter and the sun isn’t at it’s highest point yet, Katya is eyeing the empty blue sky angrily.

The smell of gasoline is becoming unpleasant, heavy and sticky in the air. She chews on some bread and rests her cigarette between her fingers, throws her bare feet off of the blanket and wiggles them in the cool grass.

“Trixie, girly, you sure seem quiet,” Ginger says loud, Trixie slaps her on the leg with her book, and they’re both laughing, bending and giggling. Trixie’s smudged her light lipstick a little and Katya wishes that she could wipe it off of her cheek for her.

Trixie is still giggling long after Ginger stops, looking out onto the park and the children kicking a ball around near them. Her nose is stroking Katya’s thigh and Katya can feel her skin bumping, reacting and rippling as Trixie’s makes contact with it.

“Shut up, Bea,” Katya grunts, pats her head twice, letting her fingers grip the roots of her hair so she gasps. Trixie stops laughing but smiles up at her joyfully, and Katya’s heart is filled with love, the sun is at it’s highest point and Trixie’s eyes are reflecting it back.

~ ~ ~

Ginger convinces them to come to dinner after they’ve spent hours at the park, and she leads them to her family restaurant where the lights are low and the walls are made of dark, cool wood. There’s glasses of water with real, cold ice in them and Trixie sits in between Ginger and Katya, touches Katya’s knee with her fingertips underneath the table.

“I wanna touch you, Trixie,” Katya whispers low, rumbling the ‘r’ of Trixie’s name under her breath right after the waiter leaves, Ginger glares at her from across the table, warning her to shut up, and she clenches her teeth, smiling widely at the both of them. Trixie’s big eyes are dark, she’s biting her lip. Katya wants to scream, _Indecent! Unladylike! Improper!_ but Trixie’s teeth have her shut up.

“Thank you,” Ginger allows to the waiter as he places their lemonades on the table. There’s a live band somewhere in the room over, and the muffled saxophone is echoing in Katya’s empty stomach. Trixie’s hand is close by hers on the table. 

Katya is grateful that Ginger and Trixie get along, they’re talking rapidly about one of their friends and her husband, how he’s cheating on her and how she’s fully aware, Trixie thinks that they’re all cheating with each other since once Violet had come onto Trixie when she was over at their house.

Katya isn’t really listening, she’s heard this story before and she’d rather just watch Trixie talk, her hands gesturing and tapping the table in front of her for emphasis. They’ve been in New York for just over a year and Trixie has adapted quickly, she isn’t afraid to yell at Katya from across the street, to dance at a party. Katya thinks that she’s just wonderful.

~ ~ ~

They take a taxi home much later from Ginger’s apartment, Trixie drunk and pliable again with her wave movements, her arms long and her hips swaying under her dress.

Trixie climbs onto her lap gracefully in the back seat, the driver peering back at them and chuckling as Trixie stuffs her nose into Katya’s hair at her neck. The night is deep blue, lights of the buildings around them yellow and dust on the windows of the car. Katya is silent as Trixie hums the last song playing in the restaurant quiety, giggling at people on the street.

In a few years Georgia O’Keeffe will paint _City Night_ , and Katya will see it on display later, the stark buildings and feeling small. She’ll see the painting and feel like she’s seen it before? Somewhere? And it’s because she feels that painting now in the taxi with Trixie draped over her, she’s small and the world is so big. When her and Trixie took the train to New York they passed so much empty space, Katya could feel the strings connecting her upper arms to Wisconsin pulling tight and thin. 

Trixie is her parents and the hills and the chickens and the goats. She’s Katya’s little attic room with her stitched curtains, and she’s the stove Katya used to make dinner on. She’s here, and Katya can hold her and hold all of it with her gently. Katya can smell the countryside on her skin, smell the seeds and growing spring grass.

Trixie sometimes sits on the fire escape in the day, eyes straight up at the sky, and Katya once asked her what she was looking for, hand on her thigh.

Trixie had shaken her head, she wasn’t crying or even visibly sad, but she took Katya’s hand and pulled her out on the metal grate with her. Katya had sat across from her, bars digging into her bare legs, looking up into blue.

There aren’t as many stars in New York as there were in Wisconsin or in Russia, but there are more lights and people and more Trixie for Katya to put her hands all over. She likes that, she wouldn’t change it for the world. And Trixie wouldn’t either, she’s said so.

She’s whispered it into Katya’s body late in the night on the bed, between her breasts and with lips touching her eyelashes. Katya’s heart hurts so bad in those moments, with Trixie above her and surrounding her, not even a little bit afraid and big and all that Katya can even see.

Katya can no longer count on all of her fingers and toes how many times they’ve climbed the dim-lit steps to their apartment drunk in the past year, Trixie behind her and tripping on the wonky stair every time. Katya unlocks the door and Trixie sits at the still dirty table, pulls Katya’s necklace out of the glass.

“This is pretty,” Trixie hums, inspecting it between her fingers. Katya feels the kind of drunk where she wants to clean up, she’s picking up plates and saucers and glasses from the table and bringing them into the kitchen. “When’d ya get this?” 

Trixie’s Wisconsin way of talk always comes out when she’s drunk, she gets self-concious about it at parties with her elegant fingernails and cigarette-holder and greased curls, but Katya loves it then and she especially loves it in the smoky apartment late at night when Trixie’s tired or drunk. Or both.

“I’ve had it forever, was Мама’s,” Katya isn’t really paying attention, Trixie is swaying in her seat a little and humming to herself.

“Katya, I really do love you, you’re sweet and pretty, ya know, your hair is soft, and you look good in blue,” Trixie is standing up, walking with bare feet to the kitchen. Katya turns at the sink to face Trixie. Her cheeks are pink and Katya’s vision is swirling a little from the heat but her feet feel stuck to the floor.

Trixie comes up to her, threads her fingers in her still-damp hair from the heat of the day. The lamp in the living room is on but the kitchen is dark. Trixie kisses her long, soft, lips like satin and velvet, smooth. Katya is holding Trixie’s arms in her hands, running them up to her shoulders and down to her elbows.

“Hold me, hold me,” Trixie is whispering between lips, so Katya brings her hands down over silk dress and warm skin to clasp both hands on her ass, squeezing the round flesh and earning a squeak from Trixie. Trixie squats down a little and clasps her hands under Katya’s thighs, pulls her up to let go and sit next to the sink, so that she’s kissing Trixie from above. Katya can smell Trixie’s hair and her hands are cupping Trixie’s jaw now, the smooth skin of her face.

Trixie tastes like whiskey, her button nose is snuffling breaths as it’s against Katya’s nose. _Love you_ Katya is whispering in her ear as she pulls Katya’s head down to kiss her neck and her collarbone right where her dress starts. Her lipstick is sticky on Katya’s skin.

Trixie inches her fingers up Katya’s dress, touching her bare hip and squeezing her ass underneath her dress, making her shiver and giggle. Trixie smiles into Katya’s chest and there’s never been anything more comfortable than Trixie’s smell surrounding her as she slides her fingers inside Katya, rubbing her thumb over her in circles. 

“Dolly,” Katya moans into Trixie’s hair, she’s shaking and so, so wet, she’s sure that she’s dripping onto the counter and she can see the blue of Trixie’s eyes as she looks up at her in the dark, smiling, the glint of her teeth. Trixie kisses her slowly again, Katya feels like she’s floating out of the open window. Trixie rubs her faster and Katya groans outright, loud and into Trixie’s ear, making Trixie giggle. Katya can see that Trixie is touching herself, and that’s what pushes her over the edge, clenching around Trixie’s strong fingers and inhaling quick, twitching against Trixie through the aftershocks.

~ ~ ~

They’re sitting on the fire escape in the night. Trixie rarely is up late, she goes to bed early and rises early with the sun usually, Katya has trouble sleeping often.

She’s sure it has to do with endless nights on trains, on the sea, with no end in sight to the sky or the emptiness. 

They’re on the fire escape, in the navy darkness, and Trixie is standing, elbows on the rail, looking down at the cars still on the street, the men walking by. Katya is sitting with her bare, tanned legs through the bars, hand holding Trixie’s calf.

“Sometimes I think, ‘Where are the cows?’” Trixie whispers, still looking down on the street, the muscles of her leg flexing beneath Katya’s hand.

“Me too,” Katya slides her hand down to encircle her skinny ankle.

“I miss them a lot, but none of them are you, none of them are this home or your dresses. Or waking up beside you,” Sometimes Trixie speaks in poetry, she always has, when talking about spring or the horizon or the sunsets from the barn loft. Katya wants to write all of it down but she never has a pen and paper when Trixie decides it’s time to speak beauty.

Trixie brought one of the blankets they had slept under in the loft that night with them to New York, lugged it all the way, and now it’s folded on the end of their bed. 

“Trixie,” Katya offers, pulling herself up with the railing, standing next to her in the gentle wind and taking her hand. 

“Yes?” Trixie looks at her, she’s smiling and Katya is relieved, she’s always relieved that Trixie is staying here with her, that she isn’t going back and telling Katya’s Мама, that she isn’t going back to slave away over a stove and hurt her feet in too-small shoes.

“Nothing,” Katya is smiling back, grinning at her. Trixie pokes her in the side through her dress. Katya doesn’t have anything to say, Trixie’s body is there and Trixie’s mind is there and they’re both here, home together, in navy sky and gasoline and silk dresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Тетя: aunt  
> Привет: hey

**Author's Note:**

> Russian word definitions (as they come up in the story):  
> Мама: mama  
> Папа: papa  
> бабушка: grandma  
> Екатерина: Yekaterina  
> Да: yes  
> “preev-yet”: hello, but Trixie is mispronouncing a little so it is spelled incorrectly phonetically  
> Тетя: aunt  
> Берёзовский: Beryozovsky, small town in western Russia  
> Я люблю тебя: I love you


End file.
